


Flipped

by magic_kiwi



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Blood, Character Development, Discrimination, Gen, Gods, Mentor/Protégé, Minor Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:21:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28929462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic_kiwi/pseuds/magic_kiwi
Summary: Sometimes, it just takes one day for everything to flip upside-down.
Kudos: 1





	Flipped

**Author's Note:**

> So for my first-year seminar, I had to write a story involving two of the Hero's Journeys we learned about. I'm horrible at coming up with good ideas, but I was in a D&D campaign and I love my darling Zaitari more than I probably should, so I figured I'd completely flush out their backstory. I'm also trying to write out the entirety of that campaign, but that's gonna take a while lol.

There’s always an underlying rush that tingles beneath Zaitari’s skin as they chase whatever creature is posted on the quest board that’s up for a reward. Something’s always teeming in the forest next to their small town and causing a nuisance to people or there’s a fugitive on the loose, but that just always means more work, and more work equals more money to help their family make ends meet.

That doesn’t mean some of the hunts aren’t challenging; this one proving no different. Rumor has it that a lycanthrope has been stalking the streets at night, stealing people away for a midnight snack. It didn’t take long to spread, bounty posters pinned hastily to quest boards across town and hushed words spoken throughout the marketplace. Of course with the hefty reward attached, it didn’t take much convincing for Zaitari to take their jab at the hunt.

The creature’s trail wasn’t difficult to find, obvious footprints and tail swipes left fresh in the dirt despite the late hour’s lack of light. They’ve always found it easier to see at night: with light gone, there are no jarring colors to distract them thanks to their people’s ability to see in the dark. Probably the only good thing to come out of being a tiefling.

With the tracks to guide them, slowly but surely Zaitari makes their way to wherever the imprints lead them, a steady hand on the dagger strapped to their back and ears open to any shift in the air. A stick snaps somewhere in the distance, their head snapping to the direction the sound came from, matching the trail on the ground. Crouching low, they creep closer until the sound of footsteps hits their ears.

Carefully, Zaitari sneaks up behind the lycanthrope as they unsheathe their dagger, silver blade glinting in the moonlight. It’s tall, the stench of matted fur and blood wafting off the creature as its tail swishes back and forth, not fully shifted despite night settling over the town. They take a quiet breath, adjusting their grip before planting a foot down on its tail, their own tail wrapping around the lycanthrope’s legs, free arm locking its forearms in place as the bring the knife down.

Dark blood drips from the wound, the creature gurgling and struggling against their hold before Zaitari feels it takes its last breath, slumping in their hold.

* * *

Dawn slowly kisses the tree line, light gradually bringing color back to the world. Soon leaves are back to their warm tones of fall, sky pinking with the sunrise. The tan-red color fades back into their skin as Zaitari’s eyes adjust to the natural light making its way back into the world.

Exhaustion seeps into their bones from hunting the lycanthrope all night deep into the woods bordering the town. However, it does little to deter the excited buzzing beneath their skin. Their father works at the bar they pick up hunts from, always there to congratulate them on a success or dress their wounds with a failure. He greets them with a grin, teasing his child about how it’d be much easier to complete some of the hunts with a bow despite Zaitari being a horrible shot. They’d get their pay, and then head out to find their mother. More often than not, they find her hidden away in an alley, using what little magic she has to help nurse the wounds of other discriminated races, frown lines deep on her face and bags under her eyes. They’d rest a hand on her back, ushering her back home where they can gently force her to eat and rest.

Eventually, the trees come to a stop, opening up to the bustle of early morning foot traffic. Dirt scuffs underneath their feet as they merge into the sea of people rushing to get to their market stands or heading home to rest. Early vendors are already calling out to people, trying to convince someone to buy what they’re selling.

As much as Zaitari wants to grab some of the fruit the half-elf is shouting about to fill their stomach, there’s a bounty that needs collecting and father in need of convincing to sleep. The path and shortcuts to get to the tavern across town are familiar, scenery blurring by as they mutter apologies squeezing past people.

A yawn slips past their lips as they get to the entrance of The Late Lantern, nudging the door open with their foot as the rusty hinges squeak open. The scent of food and ale hits their nose, driving away any lingering feelings of sleep and replacing them with hunger. There’s a couple people sitting and drinking, some face planted on the table, deep asleep. Lanterns border the tavern, glowing a soft welcoming orange. Despite the number of drunken fights that break out, the atmosphere is homey and comforting, save for the occasional glare thrown their way because of their horns.

Walking towards the quest board, Zaitari thumbs through the multitude of posters tacked up to it, making note of ones to look into when the sun sets again and pulling off the one detailing the lycanthrope attacks. Satisfied, they spin on their heels, blowing their choppy short black hair out of their mismatched yellow-red eyes as it smacks them in the face.

Blinking, they stare at the bar; a gnome sitting on one of the stools glaring into her beer mug and a human scrubbing used plates and cutlery. Zaitari’s father, however, is no where to be seen. Something unpleasant settles in their stomach as they shuffle towards the bar top, raising an eyebrow at the man behind it as he looks their way with a glare.

“Have you seen my dad?” they ask as they rest their arms on the counter, nails digging into their sleeves as they clutch to it.

“Your father?” the man seethes, eyes raking up and down their form, face set in a scowl.

“Iailius. The tiefling that works here during the night hustle. Looks like me; shorter hair, red eyes, black skin, broken horn,” Zaitari mutters, trying not to shrink under the human’s gaze as their tail twitches impatiently behind them.

“Oh, _him_ ,” he grunts, turning back to the foamy water.

“What? Why are you saying it like that?” they ask, gnawing at the inside of their cheek to stop the unease crawling up their throat. The human glares at Zaitari again, blue eyes boring into theirs, but they just glare back, raising an eyebrow and barring their teeth as fangs poke out.

“Where is my father?” they growl out, and watch pleased at the man cowers slightly underneath their intimidating demeanor.

“The guards just took him out,” he huffs, eyes pointedly trained away from their mismatched gaze.

“What do you mean, ‘the guards just took him?’” Zaitari hisses, fear bubbling beneath their skin but refusing to show the human any fear.

“I mean ‘the guards just took him.’ Some were in here celebrating a promotion or something and they caught him trying to slip foxglove into someone’s drink. Turns out the person was Kalashtar royalty, so they restrained him and he’s being dealt with accordingly.”

Zaitari freezes, eyes widening and mouth falling agape. When they were little, their father taught them all about foraging and what plants were safe and which were dangerous. Any part of foxglove is poisonous, slowing down heartbeats, and if enough is consumed, death. But there’s no way their father would do that. Despite the unfair treatment of tieflings, he wouldn’t ever retaliate against the discrimination.

“Sorry kid, but we all saw what we saw,” he shrugs, turning back to the pile of dirty dishes and foaming bubbles. “They’re probably at the town square already.”

Without another glance, Zaitari spins on their heels and bolts out the door. The town blurs by as they crash into people, but that does little to slow down their pace. Their breaths come out heavy and fast, tail twitching anxiously behind them as they spot a crowd of people around the center of town.

The shouts of the people are muffled as Zaitari focuses on the sound of someone crying out in pain, screams of denial and pleas to stop slipping between the harsh sounds of a blade sliding through skin.

Hurriedly, they push through the sea of people, trying to get to the front because they know that voice. The voice that sang them to sleep when they were little after a nightmare or scolded them when they made a mistake but helped to find the solution or tease them when they were being silly together.

They’re about to push through the last wall of people when the sickening sound of blood gushing out of a wound and the gurgle of someone choking on the thick liquid clogging their throat slowly getting more desperate before it stops completely.

Frantically, they try and push through, try and get closer to their dad, but a pair of arms wrap around them and holds them back. Zaitari screams, nails digging into the person’s arms but they hold tighter. Snarling, they whip their head around to yell at the person to let them go, but their face falls when they see their mother’s tear-streaked face in front of them instead, eyes wet.

“What are you doing?” they mutter, and only then do they notice their own face wet with tears. “Mom, what are you doing?”

“Honey-”

“Mom, _help him!_ ”

“I can’t, baby,” she whispers, voice cracking.

“Yes, you can,” they beg, vision blurry. “I’ve seen you heal people, Mom. Do something, _please_!”

“Zaitari, I can’t.” Nethseis puts her hands on their cheeks, wiping their tears away. “He’s gone, baby. I’m sorry.”

“No,” they mutter, jerking away from the touch as if it burned them. “No, he’s not. You can save him still.”

“Tari-” They step backward and their foot slips slightly in something wet. Slowly, they look down, red painted against the cobble street and they refuse to look behind them.

There’s a lump in their throat, tears welling up in their eyes as they push past their mom, her cries falling on deaf ears as they start running again, past the edge of town and into the forest they left not even half an hour ago.

* * *

Dates have blurred together into some amalgamation of time. It’s hard to remember how long Zaitari has been on the streets, no one willing to help a tielfing on their own because of all the “bad things” they’ve done and the “evil” inside of them.

Too bad they fit the stereotype for their people now, pickpocketing whatever they can from people just so they can have a meal for the day. Not the ideal life, but it’s the hand they were dealt and until they find something better, it’s how it stays. Hunts are always an option, but they aren’t ready to face those memories yet, flashes of red still fresh.

The one benefit of being on the streets is that they travel a lot. Once one city notices their presence and starts putting out guards to hunt for them, they move on. Not ideally how they wanted to travel the world, but it still works.

Leaned against an alley wall, Zaitari scopes out potential people that might have pieces on them. It’s been slow, not many people mingling out and about because of the potential rain hanging in the air, clouds dark and ready to burst.

Eventually, to their luck, a fire genasi dressed in expensive robes walks by. As soon as he passes by, Zaitari slips out from the alley, following from a distance until a window opens. They can spot the coin purse hanging off his belt, heavy with coins.

He stops to admire some books out at a person’s shop, barely paying attention to his surroundings. Carefully, they walk by, bumping into the genasi on the way to cover the fact their hand is latching onto the bag.

But before they can pull away, a hand wraps around their wrist in an iron grip, preventing them from leaving.

“You shouldn’t go grabbing things that aren’t yours, little one,” he says, eyes gentle as Zaitari yanks their arm back.

“I’m not little. I’m sixteen,” they snap back, glaring at the genasi as they yank their arm back. They spin on their heels, ready to run before he calls the guards mingling around, but his hand grabs them again, this time more gently.

“What’s your name?” he asks. Zaitari squints in confusion, distrust lingering in their mind. “I won’t call the guards, I promise.”

“…Zaitari,” they mutter, something compelling them to share.

“And what are you doing out on the street without your parents, Zaitari?”

Something bitter works up their throat, eyes stinging with the familiar burn of tears. “Not around anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have a place to stay?” he asks, and for once, Zaitari sees genuine sympathy set in his features. They shake their head, biting the inside of their cheek. Everyone hates tieflings. There’s no way they should be willing to let the first person who shows them empathy help them. But…

“I have an extra room and you can sleep there, no ill intentions.”

“Why are you helping me?” they ask, tail twitching nervously behind them. “I just tried to steal from you.”

“Because I’m not about to leave someone who needs help without any,” he responds with a warm smile.

* * *

This time, it’s easier to keep track of the date with the calendar on their desk. In the past half year, a lot has happened to them– good things for once. Being a tiefling, they have a natural affinity for conjuring smaller fire spells for basic defense, but turns out Char, the fire genasi that helped them, is a warlock and helped Zaitari have an easier time manipulating the spell.

Char has a library in his house filled to the brim with books. Zaitari’s barely made a dent in his collection, but everything they’ve learned about has been intriguing and they just want to know more. Most nights they fall asleep midsentence, book open on their lap and candle melted all the way down.

Sometimes, they’ll venture into the capital city of Cerun to help out the crown’s guard with a task that requires their magical skillset. More times it’s their mentor helping more than them, but it gave them an opportunity to make a friend: a sun-elf captain named Rowan. There were no sharp glares or harsh words exchanged, just kind smiles and friendly words. Bits of their pasts exchanged and plans for the future discussed, teasing remarks thrown back and forth. A strange but welcome new experience.

But, as they sit at their desk, journal devoid of notes for the day of things they’ve learned, Zaitari feels something missing in their life. Ever since they were called to Cerun with their mentor to try and help save one of the guards from extensive blood loss and broken bones only to tell them neither of them have any spells for healing and life magic, something just hasn’t been sitting right with Zaitari.

It’s not until they can smell Char cooking dinner that the memories flash before them. Times of them and their father sitting next to each other going over his notes from when he used to hunt before his accident while their mother cooked in the kitchen.

Maybe, what they were feeling trying to save that guard, that helplessness and loss, is what their mom felt back when she was clutching onto Zaitari in the town square. Somewhere, they know that it’s not their mom’s fault for their dad’s death. They didn’t need to lose both parents in a day, but the raw panic they felt when everything happened was too overwhelming.

Sighing, they stand from the chair, shuffling out of their room and down the stairs. Char’s house is nothing extravagant, despite his status as a well respected and known warlock. The steps creak as they walk down them, shuffling by the warm fireplace before hoisting themselves on the counter, feet dangling. Their mentor stands in front of a bowl of something, mixing its contents together.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” he asks, not bothering to look up from the bowl.

“Still not little, Char,” they huff, playfully whacking his shoulder with their tail. “And how do you know there’s something on my mind anyway?”

“You start picking at your nails. So, tell me what’s troubling you.”

Sighing, they shove their hands underneath their legs. “Just thinking about my mom.”

“Because of the guard we couldn’t save yesterday?” he questions, a knowing glint in his eyes.

They nod, gnawing at their cheek. “I guess it helped me realize that maybe I blamed her for no reason. Dad was probably dead before mom even grabbed me. We were both probably too late to help him.”

“It’s none of your fault that it happened. I’m glad you made peace with your mother’s memory.”

“Kind of. I’d rather find her and apologize sooner rather than later, but I have no idea if she’s moved anywhere or if she’s even still-”

A knock at the door interrupts them, eyes hastily darting over to the window trying to spot people. Zaitari can’t spot anything as Char wipes his hands, walking over to the door and opening it. Guards in unfamiliar uniforms stand in the doorway, faces schooled into emotionless masks. Zaitari just raises an eyebrow, slowly creeping over to the door to stand beside their mentor, tail twitching nervously.

“What can I assist you with, sir?” Char asks the men, voice even.

“We’re looking for Zaitari Lenise. People have said that they live here.” They stop in their tracks, eyes wide as they lock with the guard’s. A lump forms in their throat as it suddenly clicks that they’ve seen these guards before in a different city when they were still living off robbing people and market stands.

“And why’s that?” their mentor questions, blocking the door as well as the guards’ view of Zaitari, but it’s too late. The guards start forcing their way in, trying to grab Zaitari but they scuttle over to the table, putting it between them and the guards, hands held up defensively.

“What’d I do?” they growl, glaring at the men trying to surround them.

“Robbery, theft, murder,” one of the guards say, blade drawn.

“Murder? I never killed anyone!” they shout.

“You’re in no position to argue!” he fires back, creeping closer. “Turn yourself in now or there will be further consequences.”

Heart pounding, they lock eyes with their mentor. Char stares at them, confusion and worry written on his face. If they try and retaliate, slip by and run, or let Char get involved, everything ends horribly.

“Now, hold on for just a minute-”

“Quiet!” another guard cuts their mentor off. “You’re not off the hook either. Harboring a criminal and letting them endanger people while you work.”

Their mentor starts arguing back, the house filling with shouts and yelling. Zaitari doesn’t want to shatter the life they’ve had with Char, how nice and caring he’s been, despite their first meeting. They’ve learned so much from him and made friends and finally can heal. But that reality is slipping through their fingers.

“Alright!” they shout, slowly raising their hands in the air, teeth clenched. “I’ll go willingly, do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt Char. He did nothing wrong.”

“Zaitari-” he protests, but they just shake their head. The captain nods at the others as they approach them, but they don’t cower, just offer their hands for the guards to restrain as they sheath their blades.

“I know. False murder accusations, blah blah. It’s how my dad died, but I guess this is karma for yelling at my mom when she couldn’t save him,” they sigh, pliant as the guards tie their hands behind their back.

One of the guards grabs them, forcing them to walk forward towards the door. As they’re pushed past the doorway, they hear the telltale sound of a blade being drawn behind them. Zaitari braces themselves for the hit, but it never comes.

Instead, they hear another body fall to the ground behind them. As they turn to look, they feel their heart drop when they see their mentor’s body laying in front of them, blood slowly spreading out.

They don’t scream. Instead, they let the tears silently flow as the guards push them away from their home, fire still burning in the hearth.

* * *

The cell stinks, moonlight barely streaming through the barred off window. It hasn’t even been a day since their world was flipped upside down again. Underneath them, the cot is uncomfortable, but probably the best they’ll have for a long time. More and more of their life keeps slipping away from them, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

“Child, do not lose hope,” a voice says out of nowhere, Zaitari’s head snapping up at the sound. Before them stands a midnight-black tiefling, her silver-white hair braided back to reveal white freckles dotting her skin, almost like stars. Her horns curl around her head almost like a halo. They’ve seen her in the books they’ve read. Vaheia, goddess of night and shadow, as well as Char’s patron.

They can only stare in shock at the goddess before them, eyes wide. She smiles at Zaitari, gown flowing gently behind her as she walks over and crouching in front of them. Never have they met her, but her presence feels safe and comforting.

“Everything will right itself momentarily,” she continues, resting her hands on top of theirs, squeezing gently. “Char called for me before his final breath. He asked me to watch over you and make sure you’re okay, and I shall grant him his dying wish.”

She moves her hands back and Zaitari is holding a black crystal pendant instead, moonlight gleaming off its surface.

“You’ll do many great things, my dear. If you ever need anything of me, I shall be there to aid you,” she says, standing up again.

“Thank you, my lady,” Zaitari mutters, finally finding their voice, despite still being choked up. Carefully, they put the pendant on, the gem cool and pulsing faintly with magic.

“Always, my child,” she responds, leaning down and pressing a kiss to their forehead. The next second, Vaheia is gone, hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway. A figure stands in front of the bars, and Zaitari nearly falls on their face from standing up so fast and rushing forward.

The door’s lock clicks open, the guard behind it begrudgingly holding it open for them to step through. Her eyes look older, more gray in her hair than they remember, but it’s her.

“Mom…” Their voice shakes, tears flowing down their face as Nethseis pulls them close. Zaitari wraps their arms around her, squeezing tight as they bury their face in her shoulder. Their mom hugs back just as tightly, one hand running through their choppy hair soothingly as she hushes their quiet sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” they cry out, hands fisting into the back of her tunic. “It’s not your fault that dad died. I’m sorry, mom.”

“Oh baby,” she coos, voice thick with tears. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I blame myself every day that I couldn’t save him. You had every right to be angry at me.”

“No, I didn’t. There’s only so much we can do at one time, or fate just doesn’t allow us to be there.”

Their mom chuckles, pulling back and resting her hands on Zaitari’s face, wiping away their tears. “When did my baby get so smart?”

They laugh in response, pulling Nethsies close again and refusing to let go.

* * *

“Hey, dad,” Zaitari sighs, sliding down to sit next to the headstone, leaning against it. “Sorry for not visiting sooner. A lot happened and I guess I just needed time to process it.

“I went back to The Late Lantern. Started picking up hunts again to help mom out. It’s weird not seeing you there anymore; still hurts a lot and I don’t think I’m gonna ever get over it. But the memories make up for it. Could probably guess what you’d say to me whenever I get back.

“I started watching out for people like us too. Don’t wanna see what happened to you and me ever again, so if it gets me in trouble for making sure we don’t get treated like shit, oh well. At least you and mom will be proud of me.

“I miss you a lot, but I know you’ll always look out for me. Char, too. Hopefully you two can tell each other stupid stories about things I’ve done.” They smile, closing their eyes as they take in the sun’s warmth.

Maybe, just maybe, things will start going right for them.


End file.
